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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820679">River in a Dry Land</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraPenguin/pseuds/ExtraPenguin'>ExtraPenguin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dehydration, Force-Sensitive Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Gen, Rebels, Space Battles, Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo Defects to the Rebels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:09:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,761</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820679</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraPenguin/pseuds/ExtraPenguin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Grand Inquisitor visits the Chimaera to test Grand Admiral Thrawn's skills in art analysis. One of the test objects he brings is a Jedi holocron.</p><p>When Thrawn wakes up, it's in a prison, and to gloating about exactly what the Empire will do to each and every Force sensitive – the Navigators back in the Ascendancy included.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>River in a Dry Land</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts"></a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“He's <em>really</em> creepy,” a sensor tech said to another. “I mean, have you seen his eyes?”</p><p>Thrawn slowed his stride. The new transfers to the <em>Chimaera</em> always needed some time to adjust. Some would get over themselves and the Empire's human-centric attitudes with only small prompting. Most could just ignore the fact their Admiral was nonhuman. Some, however, never adjusted and had to be transferred out. These sensor techs-</p><p>“Never mind the eyes,” the other sensor tech said, “have you seen his <em>teeth</em>? They're all pointy. And he smiles like he wants to sink them in your throat and drag you back to Lord Vader.”</p><p>Ah. Thrawn resumed his normal pace. He wouldn't have to contact his new aide about those two, then.</p><p>To tell the truth, Thrawn wasn't that keen on the Grand Inquisitor's presence, either, though mostly due to the man's unsettling manner and insistence that Inquisitorius business outranked military matters in importance. Thrawn was a Grand Admiral and the <em>Chimaera</em> his flagship, not a courier boat.</p><p>Lieutenant Commander Vekla Ruuch stepped into view when he passed the next branch of the corridor. “Sir.” She snapped into attention with perfect efficiency.</p><p>“At ease.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir.” She dug out her datapad. “I have the reports on the deflector shields' energy consumption you wanted. You wanted to observe the TIE fighter retrofitting after lunch, and then the secondary bridge crew is logging simulator time starting from 1500-”</p><p>Thrawn listened to her list out his itinerary for the rest of the day. No changes from the morning. He supposed he could have interrupted her and told her to only tell him what had changed, but this worked for him as well.</p><p>Ruuch was a good aide. She was no Eli Vanto – couldn't be – was shorter and paler and Thrawn would never mistake her for him even from the corner of his eye – but she was adept at managing his schedule, spoke some Meese Caulf, and didn't flinch when he made eye contact.</p><p>“-and the Grand Inquisitor has requested to talk to you after dinner,” she finished.</p><p>That hadn't been on the agenda in the morning. “Did he mention what about?”</p><p>“Art.” Ruuch smiled politely. “It would not do to decline him, though should an insurmountable obstacle come up-”</p><p>Better than him at the social dances, too. “I doubt any will.”</p><p>They were almost at the mess hall door. A last glance at Ruuch to ensure she had nothing more to say for now, and they went in. Food was the usual affair, rich yet bland to Thrawn's taste buds in the way typical to Imperial cuisine, but a calorie was a calorie.</p><p> </p><p>The afternoon went with only the regular amount of hitches – the more powerful experimental energy cell being a bit too large for the TIE fighter's energy cell slot, a programming issue with the simulators meaning they had to pause for half an hour while someone hunted up the bit flip error that had made all acceleration suddenly apply backwards – and Thrawn's evening briefings with Ruuch and Karyn Faro didn't bring up anything in need of urgent attention, either. He spent an hour at the gym before showering and eating a quick dinner.</p><p>Fifteen minutes before the Grand Inquisitor arrived. Thrawn called up his library of art holos for quick reference, then looked up Pau'ans on the HoloNet.</p><p>Sinkhole dwellers. Thrawn dropped the lights to sixty percent and brought out a decanter of low-alcohol Andoan wine with two crystal glasses blown by a respected artisan on Naboo.</p><p>The Grand Inquisitor was exactly on time, Thrawn noted as the door chimed. He waved the Inquisitor in.</p><p>“Good evening,” the Inquisitor said. He took in the dim lights and art holos on the wall and smiled. “Getting right down to business, I see. Are these your particular favorites?”</p><p>“I always appreciate the opportunity to discuss art,” Thrawn replied. The Inquisitor had a black cloth bag with him. “I see you brought something with you.”</p><p>“An experiment for later, if you will.” The Inquisitor set it down next to Thrawn's desk. He stood up and gazed down at Thrawn. “I have heard much about your skills in intuiting an opponent's character and even battle plans from the art of their species. I would be most interested in hearing about your process.”</p><p>Thrawn didn't let the momentary disappointment at the Inquisitor not being here for sheer love of art show on his face. “Certainly.” He considered the art he'd projected on the walls for a moment, then walked to a piece by a Gand artist who'd left her world for untold reasons two centuries ago. “Consider this artwork. What do you see?”</p><p>“A small brown speck in a grey vastness,” the Inquisitor said. “I suppose it's meant to represent loneliness?” He cast his eyes – yellow, but with distinct irises and pupils like a human's – at Thrawn. “Or exile.”</p><p>“Very good. The artist was a Gand findsman by the name of Relett who violated tradition to leave her homeworld for reasons she never shared,” Thrawn said. “She was immensely prolific during her career, and left behind over a hundred paintings. This is one of the ones that most speak of her all-encompassing loneliness, though the theme is present in all of her art.”</p><p>“Somehow, I doubt that is all you can divine from the canvas.”</p><p>Thrawn inclined his head. “Indeed. The reason I display this work is because in depicting the sensation of a galaxy against her, she revealed how the Gand mind works. See the way the grays are patterned? That indicates a swarming attack by many opponents who aren't necessarily powerful on their own, but cluster to take down someone of greater strength.”</p><p>“Intriguing.” The Inquisitor stared at the painting for a while longer before pointing at another one seemingly at random. “And that one?”</p><p>“From the thick brushstrokes, textured surface, and sturdiness of the shapes, one can intuit that it was made by a Besalisk. The intriguing thing here, though, is the almost complete absence of any traditional Besalisk symbology. Instead, the artist – a third-generation immigrant to Gorse – has taken on the symbology of the human and Neimoidian cultures also present on the world.”</p><p>“Does that translate to battle plans?”</p><p>“The artist was the leader of a small rebel cell – one of the first. He has long since been executed, but the recordings of his defeat show that he used battle strategies more common with humans and Neimoidians than his own Besalisks.”</p><p>“Ah.” The Inquisitor stared at the piece of art with a look of polite incomprehension on his face. “And you're using your talents to hunt down more rebels.”</p><p>“My current patrol sector has few rebels, but rather an insidious pirate gang,” Thrawn explained. He touched a control on his desk and all the holos changed. “Reports indicate that either the leader or one of his right hands is a Sullustan. I've gathered Sullustan art and have formulated several potential attack plans based on them.”</p><p>The Inquisitor nodded. “And all that remains is to track them down,” he said under his breath. “Tell me, how widely have you shared your insights?”</p><p>It was hard to make out the Inquisitor's expressions in the low light, and a Pau'an's expressions and the associated patterns of vasocongestion weren't quite those of a human. Nonetheless, the fact that this was a trap was obvious. The question was, what was the path through? “With these pirates, I have shared the preliminary battle plans with my flag captain, my aide, and segments with the TIE fighter squadrons so they may practice. In general, I can describe the insights divined from art to anyone.”</p><p>A smile graced the Inquisitor's face. The correct answer, then – or close enough. “Intriguing, Grand Admiral,” the Inquisitor said. “But let us sit down. There is something I wish to show you.”</p><p>So the Inquisitor's true purpose in coming here was to test Thrawn against art he had no context for or preknowledge of, with a secondary purpose of wanting to vanquish whatever foes had made the artwork. Perhaps a Jedi, or some other Force user, given that this was Inquisitorius business. “I look forward to it,” Thrawn said. He hadn't had the chance to examine Jedi relics before.</p><p>They sat on either side of the desk. The Inquisitor reached into his bag and pulled out a small canvas.</p><p>It was as wide as Thrawn's hand from the heel of the palm to the tip of the fingers, and only slightly taller than it was wide. The dominant color was black, though with slight variance to the texture that suggested there might be coloration there beyond the spectral range of his eyes. Blue dotted the rest of the composition in streaks and strobs that brought a sea to mind.</p><p>Thrawn went over the painting's every feature, pointing out the suggestions of coloration he could not see, the nautical imagery, and texture indicative of the wind to speculate that the artist lived on a mostly oceanic world that might have plankton bioluminescent in the ultraviolet. The strategic thinking of such a people would be two-dimensional similar to a land-based lifeform's but unlike that of a true ocean-dweller or aerial sentient, and the pattern of strokes suggested a laser-focused thinking and assault in force from one vector. One of the pigments looked unusual, and given some time on the HoloNet, Thrawn could locate the artist's homeworld, if the Inquisitor so pleased.</p><p>“Perhaps later,” the Inquisitor demurred. “There are, after all, more things I wish to show you.”</p><p>“Of course.” Thrawn, of course, intended to look up the sources of the pigment regardless of the Inquisitor's requests.</p><p>The next thing the Inquisitor pulled out was a strip of thick black fabric. “I'm afraid textiles aren't my forte,” Thrawn said as he reached for it. The edges were unfinished, speaking to a culture that-</p><p>“You need not investigate that, Admiral,” the Inquisitor said with a smile that had too much edge to it for Thrawn's liking. The techs had been right: the pointed teeth were unsettling. “I merely wish to see how you deal with sculptures based only on touch. Thus the blindfold.”</p><p>Thrawn turned it over in his hands. The material was soft and would be adequate for its purpose. He hadn't ever considered observing art without seeing it – touch had always been a secondary sense for him.</p><p>It would if nothing else be an interesting experiment. He put on the blindfold.</p><p>The already dim room retreated into darkness. He blinked a few times to ascertain the fabric wouldn't slip, then held out his hand.</p><p>The object placed in it was smooth and ovoid. Thrawn turned it over in his hands, taking in the ridges and lacquer. “Wood,” he said, then puzzled out the shape. Rotationally symmetric, resembling the rolling pins he'd seen in kitchens, but with knobs at the ends. It felt like an object of utility rather than art; the hands it had been formed for were only slightly smaller than his, and the surface felt worn-</p><p>“There's a mechanism of some sort inside,” he said. “The item is slightly off-balanced, and there is a sensation of something spinning within even after the rotation of the main body has stopped.”</p><p>“Very good,” the Inquisitor said. “I have one more item for you. Please keep the blindfold on.”</p><p>Thrawn reached out his hands. The Inquisitor plucked the rolling pin out of his grasp and replaced it with something smooth and cool.</p><p>“Crystalline and cubic,” Thrawn remarked, turning it over in his hands. “The pattern of concentric squares and circles on the facets suggests a peaceful and harmonious people, similar to the Ithorians who would rather rise to live in orbit around their home rather than despoil its nature. Though the artefact's creators had much more human-like hands.” It felt very human, too, though Thrawn couldn't put the data that produced that observation to words. “There should be a mechanism to open it... There.”</p><p>The artefact came open in Thrawn's hands, corners splitting apart from the main body and levitating to rotate around it. A deep sense of calm inexplicably settled over him.</p><p>Unknown yet peaceful creators, an odd emotion imposed on him from without... “May I ask, is this a Jedi artefact?” Thrawn asked. “I have heard little about them, and seen even less made by their hands, despite the mark they left during the recent Clone Wars.”</p><p>“Your fascination with the technology of the Clone Wars is well-known,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “And yes, that is a Jedi holocron you just opened.”</p><p>Thrawn ached to remove the blindfold, but if he did that before receiving permission, he risked seeing no further Jedi artefacts. “It is surprising that something from so secretive a culture would open to just anyone,” he said, angling for more information.</p><p>“Oh, they don't.”</p><p>The stun shot came at point blank range. Thrawn couldn't have dodged it even if he'd seen it coming.</p><p> </p><p>Thrawn woke up in unfamiliar clothes on an unfamiliar bed. He feigned sleep for a moment longer, listening to the noises and cataloguing all the sensory details that came his way.</p><p>The mattress was thinner than the standard Imperial troops' one, and a bit lumpy. The covering scratched at his cheek. His clothes – a simple shirt and trousers – were less coarse, but thin. No blanket had been draped on him.</p><p>There was a faint smell of metal and dust, and the distant sound of whistling wind. No-one walked or breathed nearby. Thrawn cracked his eyes open.</p><p>He was in a cell. Orange light filtered in through a bar-covered window and fell on the metal floor. The opposite wall was metal bars and metal mesh against a corridor; part had been sectioned into a door, and the lock lay on the unreachable side. Someone had set a tray of food next to it.</p><p>Abruptly cognizant of the muddiness of his mind and the thickness of his tongue, Thrawn swung to his feet and went to investigate. The metal was barely cool against his sock-covered feet – the climate must be temperate to warm.</p><p>The tray held a single ration pack's contents: green squares of veg-meat and polystarch portion bread. More interesting to Thrawn were the two containers of water. One of them was broad for the polystarch bread, while the other was larger and deeper for drinking.</p><p>He tested both containers of water with the tip of his tongue. A bit flat, but flavorless and causing him no ill effects.</p><p>Thrawn gulped down half the drinking water before forcing himself to stop. His tongue felt like it fit in his mouth again; the dehydration headache would take a moment longer to dissipate.</p><p>When he'd finished the ration pack and drunk the rest of the water, he took another look around the cell. The hygiene facilities – a hole in the ground with a sonic cleaning mechanism – were at the foot of the bed and looked comically inadequate. His boots had been hidden beneath the bed. The rest of his uniform, code cylinders and locator beacon hidden in the rank plaque, was nowhere to be seen.</p><p>He'd gotten the second one halfway on when he heard footsteps approach. He rose and turned to the corridor.</p><p>“Good morning, Thrawn,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “It seems you have eaten your lunch already.”</p><p>“I am a Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy,” Thrawn said, voice low in warning. “The Emperor would be most displeased to learn I've been removed from the effort to combat rebels and pirates.”</p><p>The Inquisitor smiled, carnivore's teeth out and yellow eyes gleaming. “An admiral? Oh, no. Not since you opened the holocron.”</p><p>Thrawn raised an eyebrow in a manner he hoped would instill enough doubts in the Inquisitor's mind that he'd reconsider this – whatever this was. “If touching Jedi relics is grounds for dismissal from service, may I remind you that you were the one who handed it to me while I was blindfolded?”</p><p>The Inquisitor shook his head with theatrical sadness. “A holocron doesn't open to just anyone, Thrawn. One has to be strong in the Force to open one. And all Force sensitives belong to Project Harvester.”</p><p>Thrawn had the distinct feeling that he had fallen into water deeper than his head with no room to swim. “Project Harvester?”</p><p>“Of course, our plans are for <em>young</em> Force-sensitives,” the Inquisitor said, gloating, enjoying the sound of his own voice and the fact that he'd managed to trap his quarry. “Though you've been a reliable enough Imperial asset already, and you're older than the cadets we train on Arkanis. So I've decided to keep you here while I visit Coruscant and ask the Emperor how to deal with you.”</p><p>“You're not taking me with?” If he could just appeal to the Emperor-</p><p>“And expose the Emperor to a potentially hostile Force user?” The Inquisitor smiled. “That would go contrary to the entire purpose of the Inquisitorius. No. You are staying here.”</p><p>The Inquisitor enjoyed gloating and telling his opponents exactly how they'd lost. Thrawn decided to gamble. “Aren't you worried I'll escape?”</p><p>“If you try... Well. You better hope you find your way back. The prison is far from everything else, and the Void is not kind to those who would try to cross it.” The Inquisitor turned away. “The droids will bring you meals, should their programming have survived the years.”</p><p>“You seem unconcerned of the possibility of my death.”</p><p>“The Emperor cannot allow for Force-sensitives to exist who aren't under his direct control,” the Inquisitor explained as he left. “Whether that happens through death or subjugation does not matter.”</p><p>A door swung shut with a clang outside Thrawn's vision. He slid down to sit on the floor.</p><p>First: he must consider the Inquisitor a hostile source willing to lie to him. Thrawn had detected no signs of lying on his face, but he had no prior practice reading Pau'ans and it was possible the Inquisitor himself was deluded and believed a falsehood to be the truth.</p><p>Second: no matter what, he had to get out of this prison and back to his allies.</p><p>He rose to his feet and peered out the window. The windstorm had died down, showing a pale white-tan desert that stretched featurelessly into the orange horizon.</p><p>The Inquisitor had mentioned the Void. From context, he hadn't been talking about the void of space, and this desert certainly fit the description of a featureless void. Assuming they were near where <em>Chimaera</em> had been patrolling, this was Abafar. Thrawn had done inquiries on it and all the other worlds of the Sprizen sector when searching for probable locations of the pirate base; Abafar wasn't one, but there had been something else-</p><p>He paced his cell, three paces by five, and visualized looking up the notes on his datapad. Patrol regions, Sprizen sector, Abafar system, Abafar.</p><p>There had been rumors of a rebel base near an abandoned prison facility on Abafar. The planet was also remote and sparsely populated, with no bygone eras of glory, so logic dictated there must be only one abandoned prison facility on the planet: the one in which Thrawn was now.</p><p>Back in what now felt like a previous life, Thrawn had considered the rumors to be reliable enough to investigate at a later date. He hadn't considered that he might need to <em>find</em> the rebel base on foot. Not that directions would help: Abafar was known for its hazy sky and hazy ground that made telling direction or leaving tracks nigh impossible.</p><p>He'd wait and observe the next meal. The droids would have to remove his tray and replace it somehow; this gap would be a vulnerability to potentially exploit. In the meanwhile, he'd have to consider what to do after he escaped.</p><p>His original inclination was to return to the <em>Chimaera</em> and the pirate hunting. He felt a pang of concern for his subordinates – at best, they'd find their Admiral had disappeared without a trace, taken by the Grand Inquisitor. At worst ... Thrawn didn't know if anyone had tried to stop the abduction, but if they had, they would've paid for it with their lives. If he returned, the Inquisitor would just walk in again, this time with larger casualties as his crew would try to protect him and the Inquisitor would consider them complicit.</p><p>Then there was the matter of what the Inquisitor had told him: that any Force sensitives in the galaxy would be considered a threat to the Empire. Thrawn inhaled slowly. The Grand Inquisitor was highly respected by the Emperor. Even if he was deluded, he would be close enough in interpretation that his words were worrying.</p><p>Thrawn thought of this Project Harvester, gathering young Force-sensitives to Arkanis; thought of the Jedi, by all reports peaceful and passive, as evidenced by the holocron; thought of the fact all Jedi were now dead. He thought of the young sky-walkers on whose shoulders the Chiss Ascendancy rested, and realized with a chill that the Emperor would consider them all threats to his existence, to be subverted or eradicated.</p><p>There was a chance that he was wrong. Even so, this was a risk he couldn't take. He had not known it at the time, but he'd committed a grievous error in joining the Empire's ranks.</p><p>Had there been indications he should have noticed? Perhaps. He could think about that later.</p><p>In the meanwhile, he needed to fix his mistakes and bring down the Empire. There was already a faction doing that, so he could simply join the Rebellion and try to reform them into something that would be actually useful against the Grysks while he defeated the Empire for them.</p><p>He'd have to explain his defection to them. He would not tell them about the Navigators, so... The Death Star. That would be potentially valuable intel in addition to an understandable motivation to defect. He should mention the Grysks, too, as justification for why he'd initially turned to the Empire.</p><p>A Clone Wars era mouse droid whirred down the corridor, interrupting his thoughts. He observed it intently from the center of the cell as it stopped in front of his cell.</p><p>Something whirred, and the floor beneath the empty tray split, dropping it into a shallow chute the floor closed on. A moment later, the tray rose from a similarly opened section of corridor floor. The mouse droid took the tray and scurried off.</p><p>The chute was too small and shallow for Thrawn to escape through. With wire and tools, he might be able to finagle something, but he had no wire or tools.</p><p>He turned around. The plumbing was also too narrow – and Thrawn did not find himself eager to explore the sewage network – but possibly easier than the meal tray channel. The window, on the other hand...</p><p>There were three metal bars over the window, each held in place by two screws at top and bottom. His fingernails weren't quite long enough to use as a screwdriver, but closer inspection revealed little pits of rust around the screws. The window itself was wide enough for him to squeeze through; a corner of the single layer of transparisteel had warped away from the window frame. Thrawn might be able to get a finger in and lever the rest of it off.</p><p>He gave one of the bars an experimental tug. It yielded with a crunch and the bottom came loose.</p><p>Satisfied, he walked away from the window to sit on the bed with a concerned frown on his face. He didn't think there were surveillance cameras, or anyone watching them, but it paid to be careful.</p><p>If he were to escape across that hostile territory, he'd need to conserve his strength. He did some stretches to check nothing had been injured in his arrest and sat down on the bed to meditate.</p><p>He visualized locking all his thoughts in a ceramic box he'd had as a child and forced his mind to settle. He breathed against a count, exhalation longer than the inhalation, and tried to find solace from the world and his troubles.</p><p>It didn't work: try as he might, his thoughts turned to the holocron.</p><p>It was stupid – of course he wasn't Force sensitive; they tested all children for the Sight, and he'd never had it. The Inquisitor must be mistaken. Perhaps the Jedi holocrons – or that holocron in particular – had a quick-release mechanism. Or they didn't open to the Force, but used the Force to probe the mind of the one who tried to open them, and Thrawn's honest curiosity had been deemed acceptable. </p><p>Or he could accept that the reason no-one could duplicate his successes with art analysis was that he had the Sight.</p><p>He sighed deeply and abandoned all pretense of meditation. The thought made a disturbing amount of sense: no matter how hard he'd tried, he hadn't been able to pass on more than the most rudimentary aspects of art analysis. He recalled the very start of his career back in the Ascendancy, where he'd tried in vain to explain his deductions. He'd assumed he was just bad at explaining things. Yet everyone had treated his skill as unprecedented and incomprehensible – even here in the less solipsistic Empire, where the ability to predict battle plans from art would have more uses.</p><p>It was as if someone had told him he had cheated on every single one of his exams. The thought rankled him deeply.</p><p>But what was done was done. Whether or not his skills were due to his ability to use the Force, he was now forever marked as one in the Emperor's eyes. And even if the Force had brought him other things, he was not so much stronger, faster, or sharper than the average Chiss that he was considered abnormal. In any case, just like he wouldn't mention the Navigators to the Rebels, he wouldn't mention this. Let them think he'd been tossed to a prison on Abafar due to asking too many questions about the Death Star while an alien.</p><p>He needed to rest if he was to make it to the rebels' base. He removed his boots and curled up on his side on the bed.</p><p> </p><p>Thrawn was woken from half-waking dreams of rotating holocrons, dreamt only in touch, by the sounds of a droid approaching. He stood in his socks as the same mouse droid delivered an identical tray to his cell through the same mechanism the first one had been taken away.</p><p>As he watched the polystarch bread rise in its broad water container, he considered his escape. He had no sources of water or way to transport any with him. The longer he remained, the more likely the Rebels were to have moved base and the Inquisitor return with reinforcements, ready to drag Thrawn off to interrogation. Thrawn would resist, of course, but he was under no illusions: everyone broke. And when he broke, he'd lead the Inquisitorius to the Chiss Ascendancy and the little girls who moved its starships.</p><p>Once he'd finished his meal, he sat on the bed. The mouse droid was from the Clone Wars. The model was cheap: it had some nearfield communications capability, limited sensors, and only room for a few tasks in its memory. This made it good for some things – it was nigh impossible to highjack, for one – but meant it would not report Thrawn's escape.</p><p>He put on his boots and started yanking at the bars over the window. The one he'd already loosened came easily, as did the second one; the third one required some jiggling and using the other bars as levers. After that, peeling off the transparisteel cover was easy.</p><p>It was hard to judge the distance to the chalk-white ground by sight alone, so Thrawn dropped one of the bars. As he'd suspected, he was close to the ground.</p><p>He climbed through the window with the blanket sheet wrapped around him as a cloak. From outside, the facility looked even more decrepit: he'd been placed on the second floor due to extensive damage to the turbolift region, and the other end of the building looked on the brink of structural failure. The complex had some even more dilapidated buildings. There was only one road, which led into a code-locked tunnel.</p><p>The Rebellion, of course, had not left handy signposts to their base. However, the land was completely flat, so they would want to hide their base by sinking it into the rock. The base would be far enough from the prison that it wasn't immediately obvious yet close enough to be within the territory declared off-limits by the prison's existence. It would also be in one of the less conspicuous directions.</p><p>Thrawn walked to the entryway and imagined riding a speeder in and out. The immediate forward and backward directions would be out, but from here, the prison blocked out a chunk of horizon, and there was no incentive to go to any vantage with a view into the central five degrees of it.</p><p>Decision made, Thrawn set off into the Void. He left no tracks and cast no shadow; the only landmark was the prison complex, which soon disappeared into heat-haze behind him.</p><p> </p><p>When a bipedal lifeform tried to walk in a straight line without reference, they would tend to list to one side or the other. This was because no-one was completely symmetric: inevitably, one leg would be slightly longer or more limber than the other.</p><p>Thrawn had never tested which way he was prone to walk in circles. It had never been on his agenda, or seemed that important to know. Now, he was walking in a featureless desert, with the fabric sheet of a blanket he'd taken with him no protection against the dust and heat, wondering whether he didn't see the base because he wasn't there yet, or because he'd veered off-course. Alternatively, because he'd chosen the wrong direction, or the Rebel base didn't actually exist. But there would be no benefit to doubling back and trying to set out in a different direction. The prison had long since vanished into the horizon, leaving him wandering in a timeless, featureless void.</p><p>Thrawn could have been walking for an hour or days. There was no way to count time under Abafar's hazy orange sky save for the symptoms of dehydration: first thirst, then a general discomfort, most recently the beginnings of a headache.</p><p>He'd grow tired from dehydration, so he couldn't use his circadian rhythms as a mechanism of timekeeping. Loss of appetite and decreased urine volume would serve him well in this desert.</p><p>At some point, he would fall unconscious. He trudged on, scanning the horizon for habitation or water.</p><p>As tempting as it might be to exhale through the mouth, that would reduce the diminishing supplies of body water further. Best let the nasal passages strip out moisture from the breath on the exhalations like they added moisture to the inhalations.</p><p>Thrawn's nose felt full of dust. The wind picked up particles from the white, chalky ground and threw them through the air. They didn't settle anywhere in large enough number to take on tracks, but did cover everything in white.</p><p>The headache set its claws in properly. His head throbbed with every step.</p><p>His clothes had stuck to his skin with perspiration and rubbed uncomfortably with every step. His hair was likewise matted with sweat and the remnants of gel he'd used to shape it back when he was a Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy.</p><p>A patch of horizon looked different to the rest in the infrared. He squinted his eyes, looked at it straight-on and with peripheral vision, and decided to head for it. He'd never heard of mirages in the infrared.</p><p>Suddenly, time reappeared. The object gave Thrawn a <em>before</em> and <em>after</em>, and its growth a standard of measurement.</p><p>It was a ship of some sort. Very well: even a derelict wreck would give Thrawn shade. Or have rations of water left over. He might even be able to repair the communications array.</p><p>He walked. The approach felt like an eternity. The shape of the horizon, or strength deserting his limbs?</p><p>He started making out more details as he came closer. The ship looked to be in one piece and fairly new. That meant the supplies might be usable, even if Thrawn couldn't fly out of here – the most plausible reason for a functional-looking spaceship to be lying in the Void was that it had run out of fuel. It was possible that it had had enough for a controlled landing and that there would thus be a small reserve Thrawn could use to power the communicator, but it wouldn't fly.</p><p>A few more meters, and it was clear it was a Y-wing. Had there been something else wrong with it, or had the pilot died in or after the crash and the craft not had a locator beacon?</p><p>Probably the latter – Abafar was in the middle of nowhere and thus the perfect place to run a pirate squad. The Y-wing might have been returning from a piracy escort mission, veered off-track, and crashed. Except pirates liked their ships and would have come to search for it.</p><p>His mind was spinning in circles. Dehydration had brought confusion.</p><p>Next, it would bring unconsciousness and thus death. Unless the Y-wing had water in it. At this point, Thrawn would go for unfiltered coolant water to quench his thirst and bring his mind back.</p><p>He arrived at the Y-wing and found himself having to lean on the hot, hot metal shell to make it around to the cockpit and door. All outlines had taken on a hazy quality. He wasn't sure if it was due to the heat or his condition.</p><p>Thrawn climbed onto the broad flat of the front of the Y-wing to look into its cockpit. The metal burned against his hands and radiated uncomfortable heat through his trousers to his knees. He was suddenly excruciatingly aware of every grain of sand that had embedded itself in his palms.</p><p>The cockpit was closed and had no corpses in it. Nothing looked out of place.</p><p>There was a jug of water behind the pilot's seat.</p><p>It must be hot – the cockpit was a greenhouse – but the only thing Thrawn could think of was <em>water</em>. He shimmied closer to the cockpit, scrabbled at the opening mechanism. Nothing happened, so he tried again, in a slightly different spot, then wiped the white, chalky sand off the controls and tried again.</p><p><em>Locked,</em> the small screen said in Basic.</p><p>Thrawn didn't so much descend as slide off the Y-wing onto the ground. The orange sky seemed to mock him.</p><p>A BTL-A4 Y-wing assault starfighter, by all intents and purposes perfectly functional, sitting in the Void, cockpit containing a canister of water and also <em>locked</em>. It was as if this was a trap designed by a sadistic mind, that someone might watch lost wanderers discover the chance of salvation only to have that taken away from them by a regular spaceship-grade lock. Fate must laugh at him.</p><p>But there was no such thing as fate, and no-one would place a spaceship in a desert just on the off chance that a lost wanderer might pass by. There had to be some deeper motive.</p><p>Thrawn tried to get on his feet, but only managed as far as hands and knees before dizziness overtook him and brought him back to his elbows. When the world had stopped spinning, he rose to his hands again. Distantly, he noted he didn't have much time left in him.</p><p>The white chalk-dust desert sand was reflective enough to bathe everything in a soft glow, but surely something the size of a Y-wing would cast a shadow? Thrawn let old survival training take over as he crawled beneath the spaceship.</p><p>It felt cooler, even if only in his imagination. There were no tracks in the Void, no shadows were cast, no water meant he had no time left-</p><p>His hand lost its purchase on the otherwise-flat surface and fell into a shallow indentation. He crawled over to look.</p><p>A hatch. There was a hatch here, and beneath it there must be something. Food. Water. <em>Shade.</em></p><p>Thrawn hurriedly wiped more of the dust off and poked at the controls. This was nominally locked, too, but there were both manual and electronic overrides. The hatch looked too heavy for him to lift in his current condition, so he pressed the button for electronic override. The hatch slid out of the way.</p><p>He didn't so much lower himself as fall into the empty tunnel beneath. The hatch slid back into place, leaving him in darkness.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of footsteps made him stir. Two pairs, one much heavier than a human, one smaller. Thrawn pushed his aching body into a more upright position. The ambient temperature of the tunnel was high enough to make his infrared vision useless.</p><p>“Who's there?” the smaller arrival asked. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>It was unfair: he had bioluminescent eyes, making his position clear in the darkness, and they didn't glow in the dark at all. He levered himself onto his feet. “Defecting,” he croaked.</p><p>Something beeped. “Medical?” the same one said. “We've got a new dehydration case for you.”</p><p>“Here, have some water,” the other one said. She walked closer and placed something in his hands.</p><p>He lifted the bottle to his lips and shivered when the cool water hit his parched throat. He found himself unable to stop drinking, feeling an almost painful ecstasy erupt from every piece of digestive tract hit by the water.</p><p>Abruptly, nausea rose up his throat. He snapped the cap back on and handed it to the much larger than human woman who'd given it to him. “Thank you,” he said.</p><p>Only then did he faint.</p><p> </p><p>Mitt'raw'nuruodo, originally of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force, of late of the Imperial Navy, and now of nothing of all, came to in a medbay. He feigned sleep for a moment longer as he went through his last memories. The aches and frailties of dehydration had disappeared from him, and there was something in his left arm – a saline drip, probably. He must be in the Rebel base.</p><p>It was an ingenious method for storing spaceships, he had to admit. Anyone who scanned Abafar's surface would assume they were derelicts and pay no heed – certainly not enough to scan deeper and find the tunnels that connected the ships to the underground base.</p><p>“Grand Admiral,” a woman said.</p><p>Thrawn let his eyes open and slowly turned his face. The speaker was a Zabrak with dark gray skin and a crown of horns. “I'm afraid you have the advantage of me,” he said.</p><p>The Zabrak smiled. “I am Erel Zaan. I admit, I am flattered that such an august personage as you would join my rebel cell. I thought you'd have gone for someplace flashier.”</p><p>“‘Flashy’ rarely means ‘effective’ – though in this case, I had little choice.” He took in the rest of his surroundings: a standard enough medbay, with two cots larger than human-normal, and a male human doctor aggressively rearranging his mismatched equipment. Erel Zaan sat on an old and austere chair. Next to her was a bodyguard. Dowutin, parhaps? Thrawn hadn't heard of any other humanoids with chin horns.</p><p>Zaan smiled wryly. “As I suspected. I would be very interested in hearing about your daring escape from Imperial clutches.”</p><p>“Of course. May I sit up?”</p><p>“Help him up, Rulana,” Zaan said.</p><p>“Yes, ma'am,” the Dowutin – Rulana – said and helped Thrawn sit up against the headboard. She'd been the one to give him the water bottle in the tunnel.</p><p>Once he'd settled against the headboard of the decidedly non-medical cot and Rulana had fluffed up the pillows, Thrawn clasped his hands together. “Before I narrate my thrilling escape, perhaps I should start from the beginning, with how I ended up in Imperial service.”</p><p>“Please do,” Zaan said.</p><p>Thrawn swallowed. He wouldn't tell much about the Chiss, but something must be shared. “My people, the Chiss, live in what you call the Unknown Regions. We do not believe in preemptive strikes or conquest; our military is present to defend us from the various warlike and expansionary polities in our neighborhood. We leave our neighbors in peace and our enemies in ruin. For the most part, we have succeeded.</p><p>“A species known as the Grysks might change that. They are fearsome warriors who overwhelm their opponents with unfamiliar tactics. Most terrifying, however, is their ability to probe deeply into a person's mind and soul, and twist all of that to their will, utterly enslaving the person and leaving this new client willing to fight to the death for their new masters.” He didn't know as much about the Grysks as he'd like – ships and battle reports, but a dearth of art. This would have to suffice. “Our defense forces and government deliberated, and eventually decided to send me to the Empire, to see if it was a viable ally against the Grysk threat.”</p><p>“And now you find the Empire to not be a viable ally, so you seek to destroy it.” Zaan gazed at him thoughtfully. “Or perhaps replace it with something more to your liking.”</p><p>She was correct, though lacking enough data she'd draw conclusions about him he'd rather avoid. “Have you heard of Project Stardust?”</p><p>That made Zaan's eyebrows rise. “It would be hard not to hear whispers, with the sheer logistics effort involved.”</p><p>“I dug into the matter and discovered the true purpose of the project.” Thrawn filed away Zaan's interest in logistics for later consideration. “It's a planet killer called the Death Star. The plans state that it would be capable of reducing a planet to atoms.”</p><p>Rulana swore. Zaan and the doctor fell silent and still.</p><p>“I can see why you'd leave the Empire for the Rebellion, Thrawn,” Zaan said. “Do you want to know why I did so?”</p><p>He'd be a fool to decline. “I would.”</p><p>“The Emperor does not care for morals or even the future survival of his empire,” Erel Zaan began, then detailed how she'd discovered first the ecological devastation of rampant imperial strip mining, then the slavery of Wookiees and the massacre the Empire had committed on them, the genocides of the Lasat and Geonosians, and the way they used various Outer Rim worlds as testing grounds for new biological weapons.</p><p>Thrawn had heard rumors of some of that, of course – though mostly as things various humans thought aliens had invented, or as things where the same grain of truth might've been the birth of both the Imperial news and Rebel slander. “That is ... quite a lot,” he cautiously said. Perhaps some of it was true, but-</p><p>“I have gathered the evidence; you are free to examine it once the doctor has cleared you for release,” Zaan said. “I don't suppose you would have been trusted with the truth in the Empire.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Surely you noticed you were the only nonhuman in the fleet?” Zaan smiled bitterly. “The human-minority worlds always got treated the harshest. Even if your people were unaffected by any of the Empire's policies, you would be seen as nonhuman and lumped in with the rest of us nonhumans.”</p><p>Thrawn had noticed. Over the years, he'd also noticed that in response, his internal categorization of himself had slid from <em>Chiss</em> to <em>nonhuman</em>. A visit to Pantora might as well feel like a visit home.</p><p>Zaan stared at him consideringly. “Since you aren't from the Empire or Old Republic, you probably aren't aware of all the realities of the polities or the transition. Would you like for me to tell you?”</p><p>“If you have the time, please.” Thrawn didn't delude himself as being good at politics or statecraft, but information would help him help his new cause. Zaan would no doubt be biased, but in a different direction to the propaganda-filled HoloNet. And from multiple perspectives, all wrong, the truth could be divined.</p><p>“The base will run itself without my attention for a few hours.”</p><p> </p><p>Zaan was not a particularly gifted orator, but she was extremely knowledgeable about logistics. Thrawn listened in rapt attention until the doctor – a former ISB interrogator – told her to stop disturbing the patient's rest. Thrawn would've objected, except his headache had returned. He fell asleep the moment the door closed on Zaan and Rulana.</p><p>When he woke up, he discovered a datapad tucked onto the bedside stand. The material was what Zaan had promised, regarding the Empire's immoralities.</p><p>The evidence was conclusive: in addition to various things Thrawn didn't find that objectionable, the Empire had committed genocide against the Geonosians, who hadn't so much as raised weapons against them, as part of a pattern of disproportionate retaliation with no care about collateral damage. He had already decided to join the Rebellion based on Project Harvester; this simply made him feel better about it. He suspected that was Zaan's intent.</p><p>Rulana came for him soon after. “Let's get you some better clothes,” she said.</p><p>“I suppose he's recovered enough to stand,” the doctor grumbled. “But if-”</p><p>“Make sure he drinks enough water, carry him around if necessary, I know,” Rulana said.</p><p>“Where are my boots?” Thrawn asked. He did not mind ditching the prison garb the Inquisitor had placed him in, but shoes needed to be broken in, and the ones that had been part of his Imperial uniform were perfectly functional.</p><p>“Under your bed,” the doctor gruffly said, then turned back to tinkering with the medical droid.</p><p>Thrawn followed Rulana out of the medbay. She was at least a head taller than him, and built like a supply closet. A supply closet with a punishing workout regime.</p><p>He was perhaps a bit slower than he should be, but compared to his dehydrated meanderings in the Void, he was much improved. He'd recover more soon.</p><p>The Rebel base itself was small and compact, with sandy brown walls and a slightly darker floor. Someone had stencilled decidedly non-Abafarean flowers onto the walls at irregular intervals; later artists had added detailing if they pleased in at least three layers.</p><p>“This base was originally someone else's,” Thrawn said. “A pirate, perhaps.”</p><p>“Did you read up on the history of piracy in the sector?”</p><p>“It's obvious in the way the base is constructed – the walls and floor speak of a different philosophy than the beds in the medbay, and the flowers are a much later addition,” he explained, only belatedly realizing that the power of understanding architecture must also relate to the Force. What had been a joyous thrill of understanding now left a bad taste in his mouth.</p><p>“Observant,” Rulana said in clear approval. “Chief Zaan looked through reports on past pirate activity and concluded there must've been a nest somewhere on Abafar, so when we found it, we moved in.”</p><p>“Such patience and eye for detail are rare. I gather she has a gift for logistics?”</p><p>Rulana clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. “That's her all right. She somehow knows exactly whom to ask and when, so that it arrives just before we need it. She even managed to talk someone into giving us a heap of explosives and acids and stuff in case we need to blow the base.” She shook her head. “One of the old guys, Arulda, keeps saying she must be a Jedi or something. Me, I think people can be good at things without the Force.”</p><p>“I agree with you,” Thrawn said, thinking of Eli Vanto, who did not use the Force to memorize shipping lanes, and Ar'alani, whose prowess in battle did not come from the Force. Even if his did.</p><p>“I think it's just wish fulfillment – he really wanted to fight with a Jedi in the Clone Wars or something, so now he's fantasizing about getting to do so against the Empire.” She stopped at a large door, painted a pale green that clashed with the walls. “Chief Zaan occasionally talks clothes merchants into shipping last season's unsold wares here. Everyone's only into catering for humans now, of course, but you fit human sizes. Here.”</p><p>The room was full of clothes racks. There were a few sizes of each item, mostly from the extremes of the size distribution, all labeled in standard civilian clothing sizes. Compared to the uniform supply rooms Thrawn was familiar with, it was a cacophony of colors.</p><p>A few minutes of puzzling out his size – the civilian clothing sizes had little to do with the way the military labeled its clothes – and he had in his hands a longsleeve burgundy button-up shirt and black trousers that reminded him of his CEDF uniform. A glance at the waist of the trousers had him grab a matching belt to cinch it in.</p><p>“Don't forget the socks and underwear,” Rulana helpfully piped up.</p><p>Those were harder to estimate, but Thrawn did pick up a pack of each. He was led to a refresher; he took a sonic shower and discovered he looked a decade younger with the white dust out of his hair.</p><p>The shirt was a bit large at the waist and the trousers perhaps a bit short, but the clothes fit otherwise. He tucked the trousers into his boots and the shirt into his belted trousers and took another look at his reflection in the mirror.</p><p>It was simultaneously closer to how he'd looked in the Ascendancy, based on colors, and even farther off, as it was all civilian wear. Nonetheless, it was a departure from his Imperial uniform. Thrawn had looked into the psychology: a military uniform was one of the ways militaries had their ranks subsume the self into the organization. The new clothes were likewise symbolic of a new chapter of his life.</p><p>His entry to the Rebellion would go better if he shed the symbols of Imperial service, too. He arranged his hair differently to how he usually did and resolved to grow it out to the length his rank would've entitled him to in the Ascendancy.</p><p>The next item on his agenda was, apparently, a full-on briefing. “Good day,” he said to the three dozen or so beings sitting in semi-chaotic concentric rings. Zaan was sitting at the central table, as were two Dugs and an Ithorian. Most of the people present were actually Dugs and Rodians; humans were in a distinct minority. Humanoids, too, Thrawn realized to his surprise.</p><p>“Hello, Thrawn,” Zaan said, then turned to the audience. “This is the former Grand Admiral Thrawn, who brought us news of the Death Star. Commander Sinosai Waw will now debrief him on the Imperial military situation. Commander.”</p><p>The Ithorian nodded. “Please take a seat, Thrawn.” She consulted her datapad. “How did you discover the location of the base?”</p><p>“While seeking intel on a group of pirates, I came across rumors of a Rebel base on Abafar, allegedly near an abandoned prison. After the agent of the Emperor who'd stunned me left me in the prison while he sought further orders, I broke out and set out in the direction I judged would be most obscured from incoming and outgoing traffic. Then I saw a spaceship and discovered the tunnel system.”</p><p>“Awfully convenient,” one of the Dugs at the table said.</p><p>“We swept him for trackers when we brought him in,” Rulana replied.</p><p>“I don't think the agent knew about the base,” Thrawn said. The Grand Inquisitor would consider such matters beneath him. “He was also unfamiliar with my character, and as such didn't realize I would rather die escaping than meekly walk to my execution.”</p><p>“Did the Emperor – or his agent – have you removed because you asked questions about the Death Star?” Sinosai Waw asked.</p><p>“I did not have the opportunity for an exit interview.” Half the room snorted.</p><p>Waw nodded. “How many other people in the Imperial navy know about the rumors of our base?”</p><p>“I wrote it down as something to investigate after the pirates had been dealt with. My ... successor will have full access. As for people who already know...” Thrawn thought for a moment. “My aide – assuming she hasn't also been disappeared – the <em>Chimaera</em>'s intelligence officers, and I suppose the local ISB branch.”</p><p>“They'll be coming for us,” the other Dug at the table said.</p><p>“Who do you think they will send?” Waw asked.</p><p>“Rear Admiral Karath Vulinorin is nearby, though she is currently busy with her own smugglers. If they desire speed, they'll send Admiral Ryzaros Urfan.”</p><p>“If they suspect you have joined us?”</p><p><em>Thrawn</em> would've sent Vulinorin with immediate orders to bomb the location into a pile of dust before the turncoat Grand Admiral had the chance to work his way into the Rebel cell. High command, on the other hand... “Urfan is a political appointment. Depending on how the politics shake out, it will be either him or whichever Grand Admiral has highest cachet with the Emperor. The chosen Admiral might also choose to take over the Seventh Fleet.”</p><p>The Rebels looked at each other. “If they send someone other than the two you mentioned by name, it will take them longer to arrive, yes?” Zaan asked.</p><p>“Correct.”</p><p>Nodding. “We'll move base,” Zaan said. “We need intel on Urfan and Vulinorin, but given average Imperial deployment times, we should be out of the way before anyone from further in can arrive.” She smiled. “We've been packing since we found you.”</p><p>He might not have had a choice in which set of Rebels to turn to, but he had no objections to the one he'd ended up with. “Wise.”</p><p>“What do you have to tell us about Ryzaros Urfan?” Waw asked.</p><p>“He is a political appointee – I believe his mother is a rich businesswoman – and thoroughly mediocre at war. He prefers the brute force approach. He received his latest promotion from developing an innovative tight-packed formation where capital ships' deflector shields join into one.”</p><p>“And Karath Vulinorin?”</p><p>“I believe she has political backers as well, though she actually deserves her rank. She is very good at altering her plans at moment's notice, but she is occasionally too aggressive for her own good, and susceptible to traps.”</p><p>Waw made notes on her datapad. “And you yourself?”</p><p>“Utterly lacking in political acumen.” Thrawn smiled wryly. “I was not without my backers, but I wasn't skilled enough in political games to make much use of them. Though I do make a habit of contemplating potential for improvement after each battle, I cannot claim to know all my weaknesses.” He should mention his art thing, even if he used the Force. An advantage was an advantage, and he shouldn't discard one just because he found it distasteful. “While I do not rely on it exclusively, I can tease out preferred battle plans from art.”</p><p>“The art of an opposing Admiral?”</p><p>“Ideally, yes. Also from the art of that opponent's culture, and any art collection they might have curated.”</p><p>Waw and Zaan shared a glance. Waw wrote something more on her datapad.</p><p>It was both like and unlike the conversation he'd had with the Grand Inquisitor that had started all this. Though Thrawn supposed that the Rebels didn't have any Jedi artefacts, and even if they did, they wouldn't throw him in the brig for activating one.</p><p>“How... does that work?” one of the Rodians from the outer edge of the room asked.</p><p><em>The Force, apparently.</em> “One can learn much from the themes, motifs, and symbols used,” Thrawn instead said. “Details of the medium and construction of the artwork can reveal much about the painter's species – size of hand, acuity of vision, sensitivity to color – and philosophy. From many points of data, one can find a pattern.”</p><p>He had perhaps undersold it – wanted to hide from the suspicions of cheating – but the Rodian did look thoughtful. A few others nodded blankly, likely thinking identifying things from art was some secret Intelligence technique Thrawn had brought from the Unknown Regions, or that his species's eyes were naturally more sensitive to art than theirs, or any of the countless other explanations people had offered him for why they couldn't possibly duplicate his feats. He'd tried to argue back, once, but had given up over time when people rebuffed any attempts to correct them.</p><p>“We'll see if Urfan or Vulinorin has an art collection,” Zaan said.</p><p>Waw changed topics to the Empire's logistics network and tactical readiness. Thrawn told her everything he remembered, occasionally prompted by questions from Zaan, Waw, or the peanut gallery.</p><p>Finally, Waw set down her datapad. “That will be all for now.” She gazed expectantly at Zaan.</p><p>Zaan looked at the Dug next to her. He nodded, as did the other Dug at the table, and a number of the other spectators. Zaan did a visual sweep of the room, looking at their opinions on <em>something</em>.</p><p>All responses seemed to be nods or shrugs, Thrawn noted. No-one had told him what the vote was on, but given the circumstances, it could only be on him.</p><p>“Sure,” Rulana said from where she was standing behind Thrawn – Dowutin didn't see well; responding verbally rather than by gesture was entirely in keeping with that.</p><p>The final opinion Zaan solicited was Sinosai Waw's. She nodded briskly.</p><p>Erel Zaan pushed back her chair and stood. A smile played at her lips: the outcome she'd been hoping for. “Fellow sentients,” she began. “We are the spark of rebellion, growing to a conflagration. Today, we have the privilege of welcoming a new member to our ranks. Thrawn, please.”</p><p>Hadn't he just admitted to being terrible at politics? And unlike the Imperial Academy, he couldn't just memorize a protocol manual. “Thank you,” he said. “I will not let you down.”</p><p>The audience actually applauded. He supposed it was more for the sentiment, or out of politeness, than of a terrible taste in speeches.</p><p>Zaan waited for the applause to die down. “It is also time for us to move base. We have stayed on Abafar too long, and the Empire has caught wind of our presence. The packing has already begun. We will start moving supplies later today.” She looked at them all in turn, yellow eyes hard. The muscles around her eyes were tight, a potential sign of discomfort. “We are not the only spark in the darkness. The Empire may suppress dissent, but like water, the harder they grip the more will leave their grasp. Our next base will be closer to the Core, where Imperial presence is thicker and we can better be a spanner in the works – and we will not be alone. There is another cells of Rebels already there, waiting for us to join them. With them, and the other cells that will join us in time, we will take the Empire by storm!”</p><p>This time, the applause accompanied by copious cheering. Thrawn joined in on the clapping. The speech was adequate, and the strategy not obviously flawed. He had some questions on what they intended to replace the Empire with, but a motivational speech needn't contain political quibbles for the benefit of the one person present who didn't yet know.</p><p>Someone brought out a bunch of bottles and mismatched mugs. In one of those displays of camaraderie Thrawn had never quite fully understood, people began pouring alcohol for each other and drinking. Thrawn let Zaan pour something for him, trusting she'd know which bottle was for humanoids, and drank only after he'd seen her do so as well.</p><p>“Let's introduce you to your new comrades,” Zaan said.</p><p>The meeting had broken from formation into a bunch of groups discussing things amongst themselves. Zaan skillfully led him through the room, letting everyone briefly introduce themselves, and did not poke out Thrawn's eyes with her horns though she was the perfect height for it. The Arulda who thought Zaan felt the Force turned out to be one of the Dugs who'd sat at the table, and a fighter pilot.</p><p>It didn't pay to understand one's enemies too well, as that led to sympathizing with their plight. As a result, Thrawn hadn't done much research into the Rebel psyche and had assumed all Rebels were like the raucous lot Nightswan had spoken of on Batonn. Yet Zaan introduced almost everyone present with a military rank and she was greeted with less disrespect than Thrawn himself had as an Imperial officer.</p><p>The Rebels must be more heterogenous than he'd thought. This meant he needed only to find the more pragmatic rebel cells and throw his military prowess in their support. Zaan he would keep, as a good logistician and supply officer was worth their weight in doonium, but he needed pilots and matériel and a competent politician who shared his opinions on statecraft.</p><p>“I suppose you're wondering about what you'll be doing,” Zaan said once all the introductions were complete.</p><p>“I assume you are going to give me a rank in your organization?” Hopefully not too low a one – as amusing as being declared a Lieutenant <em>yet again</em> might be, it would severely hamper his efforts to influence the Rebellion's higher-ups.</p><p>Zaan smiled, amused. “I certainly am. Commodore Thrawn, you are henceforth the officer in charge of the ships and any warfare that might occur.”</p><p>“Thank you, ma'am,” Thrawn said.</p><p>She found his reaction funny. “Enjoy your evening,” she said in clear dismissal and turned toward Rulana.</p><p>“You as well,” Thrawn replied, then made a beeline for Captain Arulda, who'd previously been in charge of battle plans, and picked his brain about the ships available to him and local conditions for the rest of the night.</p><p> </p><p>The attack came two days later. It was half an hour after breakfast, and the freighters carrying their supplies to the new base would not return until after lunch. Thrawn's plans had been prepared and laid for a full planetary rotation.</p><p>“Battle plan one,” he called out to the departing pilots.</p><p>There wasn't much to object to in the circumstances: his pilots ran to their ships efficiently and commed base to establish readiness. Even doing his own comming was strangely comforting. Nonetheless, Thrawn resented being stuck planetside.</p><p>Not that he had any options. The only ship large enough for a passenger was Mazar's heavily modified freighter, and that would be out of contact for several critical moments of the battle.</p><p>“Launch,” he ordered.</p><p>His ships launched, first the freighter outfitted with a variety of surprises and then the fighter craft. Thrawn watched their ascent via the main room's table. The holographic projector was perfectly adequate for the task, even if Thrawn would want a better one for his future flagship.</p><p>“Mazar, establish contact,” he said once the ships had gone through the course adjustments to make them look like they were coming from the city.</p><p>“Roger that, sir,” the only human pilot said. She switched channels so Thrawn could see both her face and the incoming transmission, then commed the Imperial ships. “My prayers have been answered! Oh, please, I am being pursued by Sullustan pirates,” she sobbed on Thrawn's script, “and you know how they are. Please, help me!”</p><p>An incoming holo flickered on. “This is Admiral Ryzaros Urfan,” the recruitment poster boy replied. “What is your cargo, merchant?”</p><p>“Tibanna gas! I don't know how they found out, my supplier was supposed to be good and confidential!”</p><p>Thrawn opened a channel to all craft save Mazar. “Attack plan thirteen.”</p><p>“Tibanna?” Urfan straightened up. “We can't have that falling into Rebel hands.”</p><p>“Yes! Please, save me and my ship!” Mazar wailed.</p><p>Thrawn smiled indulgently at the antics. Next to him, Zaan was trying not to laugh at the normally stoic Mazar acting like this was an audition to a soap holodrama. “Arulda, now.”</p><p>“Yessir,” Arulda acknowledged.</p><p>Arulda fired. The turbolasers hit the special canisters attached to the sides of Mazar's engines.</p><p>Mazar pulled her ship into a very convincing roll. “I'm hit! I'm hit!”</p><p>“Pass through the center of our formation,” Urfan said, paying no heed to the fact Mazar's ship had sprung twin leaks or what was now being thrown out of them by the laws of physics directly onto his ships. “You'll be within our shields. We'll take care of the pirates.”</p><p>“See?” Thrawn murmured to Zaan and Rulana. “His mentality is to take what he wishes to protect and ensconce it in the center of his formation.”</p><p>“It would discourage most pirates, I think,” Zaan said with an appraising eye.</p><p>“Most of them, yes.” Thrawn keyed the comms on again. “Trajectory change one.”</p><p>The “pirates” pivoted outwards as if they were going to bypass Urfan's Star Destroyer and clutch of cruisers. Urfan, as Thrawn had predicted, turned his ships' bows outwards to track them.</p><p>“Deploy canisters. Trajectory change two,” Thrawn said.</p><p>The starfighters let go of their payloads and pivoted back in and accelerated, hiding the payload's own deceleration in the starfighters' larger drive flare. As they were smaller than Urfan's ships, they got into the channel Urfan had cleared for Mazar before Urfan could turn his ships back. Due to his preference for tight formations, this meant the fighters were within his shields.</p><p>“Fire,” Thrawn ordered.</p><p>Arulda's squadron fired as one on the Star Destroyer's fighter bay. There was a bit of spread to their fire, Thrawn noted, but that would be a problem for later. Here-</p><p>One of the shots hit a piece of hull plating hit by the acid from Mazar's canisters. The piece buckled, tearing off one of the turbolasers screening the fighter bay, and there must've been some residual acid that made its way into the hull, for the turbolaser's local battery exploded. The Star Destroyer shuddered as the hull warped around the site, completely cutting off the fighter bay from space.</p><p>“Trajectory change three,” Thrawn said. “Formation nine. Fire at will.”</p><p>The starfighters spun around and came to a halt in the middle of Urfan's formation. It wasn't quite formation nine, but considering the lack of exercises, it would make do. Urfan would have trouble firing on any of the starfighters without hitting his own ships, especially as the fighters were more nimble and capable of dodging.</p><p>“He's hesitating on adjusting formation, and the loss of one fighter bay has made him subconsciously write off the other bay as well,” Thrawn explained as he watched the holoprojection. The resolution wasn't as good as he was used to, though the sensors on the fighters might not be good enough for the job. He'd have to get better sensors for his flagship. And send at least half the pilots to gunnery training – it was fortunate for them that an attack cruiser or Star Destroyer was hard to miss.</p><p>One of the attack cruisers's drive signature wavered. “Formation seven. Fire on retreating attack cruiser during formation change.”</p><p>The attack cruiser started to move away from the battle. Urfan adjusted formation so that it was screened by another one, then started moving so his ships would be between Thrawn's and the planet, with firing solutions unimpeded by the risk of hitting his other ships. He yawed to bring the bows to bear on the fighters while in motion.</p><p>“Fire on the attack cruiser screening the other one,” Thrawn told the fighters. He thumbed off the comm. “See how Urfan keeps his ships in close formation and is rotating the bows to point in the direction of his targets? A capital ship can fire in all six directions, three of them well, but his art betrays his preference for the forward direction, just like it tells of his preference for tight-packed formations and brute force over the finesse of a scalpel.”</p><p>“I can't believe you could divine all that from crayon art done by a five-year-old,” Zaan said, watching the holoprojection with rapt attention.</p><p>“Indeed, most people gain quite a bit after the age of five.” One of their Y-wings shot an acid-weakened piece of hull plating, causing a sizeable explosion in the attack cruiser's side. “Not so Ryzaros Urfan.”</p><p>They didn't have direct communications with Mazar at this point, as Urfan's ships were between her and Abafar. Strictly speaking, her next piece was optional, but Thrawn would've rather-</p><p>“See?” Mazar's holo flickered on. She was at the entry to the only hyperlane serving Abafar. “See what they're like? I am <em>so</em> glad you have come to my rescue, Admiral; I never could've made it on my own! These evil pirate vermin are everything the Empire needs to eradicate! I cannot overstate how much I and my shipping company are in your eternal debt. These pirates are terrible, horrible people out to seize the riches of the Empire and profit illicitly. Only you can stop them!”</p><p>Midway through Mazar's speech, Zaan started giggling. Rulana was laughing out loud. Thrawn was busy watching the tactical display, but even he couldn't help cracking a smile.</p><p>“Rest assured, captain; the Empire takes the threat of alien pirates very seriously,” Urfan said, comming a merchant captain in the middle of battle like an idiot. “We will eradicate these-”</p><p>His flagship's command tower hit the first of the makeshift mines the starfighters had deployed. The transmission cut off.</p><p>“I believe that is the end of Ryzaros Urfan,” Thrawn commented. Mazar jumped to hyperspace, final task complete. “Lose them in the asteroid field,” he ordered the fighters, and stood back to watch the final act.</p><p>With Urfan and his flag captain dead, the ships' response was delayed. Thrawn envisioned the cruisers staring at the wreckage of their flagship, trying to frantically determine which of the Commanders had seniority and thus inherited the mess, as they executed their dead Admiral's final order.</p><p>The next ship to hit one of the mines was the already-damaged attack cruiser. Its drive signature flickered, twice, before it exploded into a ball of light bright enough to momentarily overload even the faraway fighters' sensors.</p><p>When the sensors came online, the attack cruiser was gone, as was the cruiser it had been hiding behind. The mines had all been detonated by the blast; the remnants of Urfan's task force had sustained additional damage from them as well as the detonation of the attack cruisers' reactor cores.</p><p>“Do you think they will retreat?” Zaan asked.</p><p>“The person in charge will be junior and spooked, and see there is little chance of catching our fighters,” Thrawn replied. There was always the chance that the most senior captain was a particularly stubborn idiot, but- “See? They're regrouping and turning toward the hyperlane.”</p><p>Whoever was in charge was not that bad a commander, Thrawn decided. The damaged Star Destroyer was in front, with the cruisers providing protection from any attack from other vectors. The formation was looser than standard and much looser than Urfan's, giving the screening ships the chance to dodge any debris that may fall off.</p><p>“Second ship from the back,” Thrawn guessed. “The light cruiser. I almost feel bad for the Commander; they're much more sensible than Urfan.”</p><p>“The cards have already been dealt,” Zaan remarked.</p><p>“Indeed. And soon, they will discover the fact.”</p><p>The Star Destroyer steadily limped towards Abafar's only hyperlane with the cruisers fanning around it. There they found Thrawn's final surprise.</p><p>“Impressive,” Zaan said when the Star Destroyer hit the mines Mazar had left behind her.</p><p>Thrawn eyed the readouts critically. The Star Destroyer had turned into a ball of plasma. No doubt this had caused further damages in the other ships, but it was hard to tell with their lack of sensor capability. “I'd wished for them to arrive in a tighter formation, but this will have to do.”</p><p>“Three ships disintegrated and the rest of them heavily wounded. I'd say that's a good day's work, Commodore.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>They watched the remnants of the task force take stock and jump into hyperspace. Any hyperdrive damage would've been minor, then. Not that any halfway competent commander would want to do repairs in hostile and mined territory.</p><p>Then came the cleanup. Thrawn sent the remote detonation signal to all remaining mines; a few stragglers blossomed orange on the tac display. None of the fighters reported damage to personnel; Arulda's shields were down, another two had hits to the hyperdrive, and one had a minor drive thruster malfunction. Zaan grumbled a bit about spare parts.</p><p>Thrawn ordered the fighters to come down dark – Abafar's planetary tracking system was mostly offline, but he'd rather not chance it, especially in the wake of a major space battle – and clicked off the transmitter. “That should be it for the moment. I'll stay here until Mazar returns.”</p><p>Rulana clapped him on the shoulder so hard he almost fell over. “Great job! Those Imps never knew what hit 'em.”</p><p>“They already know it was a ruse.” Mazar had had no objections to the Empire seeing her face; she'd apparently had a checkered past that involved running away from home at age thirteen and never returning. “The suggestion of Sullustan pirates will occupy their intelligence division for perhaps a day, but they will soon come to the conclusion that we're rebels.”</p><p>“We'll have to move before they can act on that information,” Zaan said. She was reading through her messages on her datapad. “I have shared the intel on the Death Star with some of the cells I'm in contact with; we agree this requires an acceleration of our agenda. And with a master tactician on board, there is no doubt we will take Coruscant by force.”</p><p>“I do need ships,” Thrawn explained. “They will be more prepared next time. Not every Admiral is Ryzaros Urfan.”</p><p>“I'll get you your ships.” Zaan's smile had a definite edge to it. The room lights made her yellow eyes glow.</p><p>“And will those ships remain under my command so I can bring them to bear against the Grysk? Will your new – Empire, Republic – let me protect the galaxy?”</p><p>Zaan laughed. “Oh, Thrawn.” She sighed and shook her head. “Of course we'll send you to war with the Grysks. There's nothing quite like an external threat to unite a people; warring with a conquering force, ignored by the Emperor, which seeks to take us over through mind control, will be a very popular decision.”</p><p>Thrawn thought it over. The Rebels must be to some extent fractitious, and kept together mostly by the desire to take out their common enemy, the Empire. “I see.”</p><p>“You can leave the politics to me,” Zaan said. “Rulana, come. Let's help the doctor pack the medical supplies.”</p><p>“I'll join after Mazar's returned,” Thrawn said.</p><p>He was left alone in the room, staring at the makeshift tac display that was currently receiving and thus displaying absolutely nothing. He turned it off and called up the art instead.</p><p>Ryzaros Urfan had been the son of two politically well-connected businesspeople. They were also loving parents, and had taken pictures of every single piece of artwork their son had made in kindergarten. Unfortunately, their enthusiasm for documenting their child's progress in crayon usage was not matched by equivalent enthusiasm for data security, and Sinosai Waw had easily hacked into their HoloNet storage, thus giving Thrawn free rein on Urfan's pictures.</p><p>They were amateurish, simplistic, and banal, just like one would expect a five-year-old's crayon drawings to be. Thrawn had also managed to completely accurately predict Ryzaros Urfan's character and battle strategies from them.</p><p>Previously, he would've applied a modicum of caution on such things, but since he apparently drew his skills not from his ability to extrapolate based on data but from being a Force mystic, he'd simply “rolled with it” as Eli Vanto would put it. He'd also been completely correct on every count.</p><p>He should tell his people. He needed to send in a report anyway – they must be extremely annoyed by his silence. A Chiss who possessed a Sight of sorts well past puberty would be huge news.</p><p>They'd want him back for testing, though. He'd report back about the Inquisitorius and Project Harvester and the Death Star now, and his own Force powers later. Perhaps once he'd beaten back the Grysk.</p><p>When Mazar returned unfollowed and unharmed, he joined the rest of the base crew in loading supplies onto her ship. He'd build his transmitter at the next base. And look up the blue pigment used by the artist of that painting the Grand Inquisitor had showed him.</p>
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